There is a candle lit in the front window--Susan knows she's being ridiculous, but it reminds her of a story she only vaguely remembers someone telling her. Leave a candle burning in a window facing a path most likely to be tread and it'll lead the ones you most wish to come home back to you.

It's a silly story--and a waste of a good candle--and it must have come from a dream because for some reason she can only picture the story teller being a beaver. But still, the candle is lit and Susan sits next to it, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of tea, watching the street.

It's silly and she knows it--no one came back from the train accident, not even back five years ago when it happened--and yet.

The candle still burns in the window, waiting.